


take no solace in your answers

by write_away



Category: A Neon Darkness, The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, MAJOR A NEON DARKNESS SPOILERS, do not read if you do not want major spoilers, mark thinks he's coped with his trauma but ding dong he is wrong, neon is not doing much better, this is straight up angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/pseuds/write_away
Summary: “You’re Mark,” she says, factual and clipped as if she isn’t a stranger on his doorstep in the middle of July. Her gaze is unrelenting, her eyes dark and somber, and Mark is about to ask what the fuck she wants with him when she says that name. “You know Damien.”Mark generally prides himself on his ability to comport himself, on his ability to mask his pain and rage behind jokes and cocky grins. And yet - there is no smile he can muster, no funny comment he can make.“You know Damien,”as if Damien did not take his broken pieces and put them back together wrong.“You know Damien,”as if that phrase itself isn’t ripping through the messy stitches left behind.His face must show it, because the woman grimaces, nods, and looks away. “Me too,” she says softly. It’s like her own stitches have become undone. “I’m Neon.”MAJOR A NEON DARKNESS SPOILERS WITHIN. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
Relationships: background Mark/Oliver with them both pining for Alex, but it's really a blink-and-you-miss-it moment
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	take no solace in your answers

**Author's Note:**

> Have you finished A Neon Darkness yet? Done crying? Great. I'm here to make you start again. 
> 
> I couldn't stop thinking about the parallels between Damien's relationships with Neon and with Mark after I read the ARC, and when Lauren referred to them both as Damien's 'two great loves' in the Insta Live... well. This happened. 
> 
> Again, MAJOR SPOILERS WITHIN. Seriously, read at your own risk - and enjoy!
> 
> Title is from "To Lose Control" by Koethe

“You’re Mark,” she says, factual and clipped as if she isn’t a stranger on his doorstep in the middle of July. Her gaze is unrelenting, her eyes dark and somber, and Mark is about to ask what the fuck she wants with him when she says  _ that _ name. “You know Damien.”

Mark generally prides himself on his ability to comport himself, on his ability to mask his pain and rage behind jokes and cocky grins. And yet - there is no smile he can muster, no funny comment he can make. “ _ You know Damien,”  _ as if Damien did not take his broken pieces and put them back together wrong. “ _ You know Damien,” _ as if that phrase itself isn’t ripping through the messy stitches left behind. 

His face must show it, because the woman grimaces, nods, and looks away. “Me too,” she says softly. It’s like her own stitches have become undone. “I’m Neon.”

He steps aside to let her in. It’s the least he can do. After all, broken people need to stick together. “I’ll put up a pot of coffee.”

Neon toes off her boots at the rug and tugs her jacket tighter around her before following him into the kitchen. Mark tries to breathe in and out like Joanie taught him, to ground himself in the moment, but the moment fucking sucks. He doesn’t bother hiding his trembling hands as he gestures to an empty stool for Neon. 

She doesn’t take it. Instead, she leans against the island and turns her gaze to the gallery wall on her left. Mark turns his back on her to fill the coffee machine; he doesn’t know if he can handle watching her eyes flick from photo to photo, wondering and searching for someone who most certainly won’t be there. 

“Did you take this?” she asks as he flicks the machine on. Mark peeks over his shoulder to see which photo she’s referring to. 

Her eyes have landed on a snap of Alex. It’s probably the newest in his collection, from just this past summer when they went to the beach. Modesty aside, it’s a good one. The setting sun is a halo against a tie dye sky backdrop, but Alex is the one who is shining. 

Oliver gave him a knowing smile when he framed it, but Mark isn’t exactly concerned. They’re both about as subtle as a battering ram splintering your front door. When Alex is ready, he’ll let them know. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, and even with his chest tight and his brain a scrambled mess of memories, he can’t help but smile. “You like it?”

Neon looks unsure. “I didn’t know that you knew him too.”

Oh. Mark blinks hard and steels himself before he turns and reaches into the cupboard for mugs. “So he got to you before me, then.” He tries to stay nonchalant, tries to stay cool, but his voice cracks despite himself. 

Neon clears her throat, so clearly she’s in the same boat. “He was Robert, then. Robbie.” Her voice is wistful for a moment, all the edges worn away before anxiety sharpens them yet again. “I’m sorry to track you down like this. My friend - he can see pasts. I guess you crossed paths one day and he saw him and - he tries to stay out of people’s business, though, I swear.” She sighs. “It’s just...  _ Robbie _ , you know? I had to dig a little.” 

Mark can’t keep his back to her any longer. He turns on his heel slowly and shoots her a hopefully comforting grin. “It’s ok. I get it. I’m a mimic,” he confesses, “so I’ve invaded just about every type of privacy there is at some point.” 

Sparks jump between her fingertips. “Sounds fun,” she says dryly. “Want a spin on this?”

Mark doesn’t mean to flinch, but he does. “No thanks,” he says and presses two fingers into the injection site where he administers his regular suppressant doses. “I think I’m good.” 

She’s quiet as Mark pours two cups of coffee. She declines the milk and sugar he offers and cradles the mug near her face. “So. What did he do to you?” she asks. 

Mark hears the hitch in her voice between words. It’s not something she wants to know. It’s not really something he wants to share. But she asked and he’ll answer, and he wonders how one person can make it feel like their free will has been snatched away again by the mere mention of his name. 

Joan says it’s the trauma. Mark says she can fuck right off. 

“Kidnapped me,” Mark says and takes a gulp of the coffee just to feel it burn down his throat. “Told me he was my savior and just... tried to make me be like him.”

Neon’s eyes are somber when they meet his. “Did it work?”

Mark struggles to maintain the gaze, but he somehow does. It’s like his head is being held up by strings. “Yes.”

He expects her to look away then, to busy herself with her coffee or her nails or her hair, but instead the room just fills with a quiet sort of dread as they stare. A study in impassivity. Mark wonders if Neon would let him take a picture. 

“He made me kill a man,” she finally says. 

It hangs there between them. Mark begins to take a deep breath but - he doesn’t want to breathe it in. He doesn’t want to know. He does not want this knowledge to be a part of him. 

He never asked for this. 

And yet? He does. “Did he mean to?”

Neon doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. Mark knows. 

“I hoped he had changed. I really, really hoped he had.” Neon’s voice is shattered glass. 

The shards slice through his stitched-up, fucked-up, messed-up self again and again and again until he feels a - a sob? A laugh? He doesn’t know, but the sound wrenches its way past his lips anyway. He can’t form words. The pieces of him that make sense have fallen away. 

He dares to glance at Neon, whose cheeks are streaked with tears and eyeliner. He feels like he should be angry with her - like he should blame her for the mess he is right now, after he’s so carefully been glued back together - but the part of him that feels rage is locked away for once, safe and sound. No, he’ll only blame himself for this. 

Neon wipes at her cheek with her sleeve. “Is it fucked up that I miss him?” she whispers. 

Mark can feel her fear - or maybe it’s just his own, settled deep inside his bones, re-emerging like a virus that lays latent in his veins, simply waiting for the moment to strike. 

He takes a breath. Tries to collect his pieces. “Me too,” he says, and wonders if those words will ever stop being true. 

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, my working title for this was A Neon Brightness, but that sounded a bit too cheerful for... this... so an Indah/Neon fic is in progress now. Thanks to Marcus thefigureinthecorner for giving me songs to steal lyrics from.


End file.
